


Messy Circles

by CeNedraRiva



Series: Smile 'til your cheeks are burning [4]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: But only a little, Evil Corporations, Kevin is Inhuman, M/M, Post-Strex Kevin, The Weather (Welcome to Night Vale), Typical Night Vale Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 15:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20117725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeNedraRiva/pseuds/CeNedraRiva
Summary: Kevin hears an interesting bit of news about Night Vale and decides to visit. It's a lovely reunion for all involved. A little bloody.





	Messy Circles

Kevin doesn’t listen to Night Vale Community Radio. They get the signal most days, if you know the right way to tune your radio. Some of the Joyous Congregation like to listen – never during any moment Kevin’s show is airing, of course. Not that he’d mind if they did! There’s nothing illegal about having extraordinarily bad taste in radio shows. And a great number of the original population of Desert Bluffs now lived within Night Vale – thankfully they hadn’t abandoned their worship of the Smiling God to become faithless heathens – so Kevin supposed it made sense that some of his Congregation might want to listen to NVCR, to hear news about their friends and families.

Sometimes Charles liked to listen to NVCR too.

“It’s theologically fascinating! You know they recently rediscovered that the worship rituals surrounding the bloodstone circles were originally to honour the goddess Huntokar? Imagine that, performing the same rituals for decades without having any idea of the reasons for the tradition!”

A good boyfriend does not get irritated by their boyfriend’s passions. Kevin was a good boyfriend, so whenever Charles started talking about Night Vale, he would smile, big and bright, until it hurt.

So Kevin doesn’t listen to NVCR, but he certainly does hear news from Night Vale. Most of it is absolute drivel, although occasionally there is mention of Carlos, who is still as productive as ever. What a shame he spent so much time on science, instead of a more worthwhile pursuit.

Charles says it’s a good thing that residents of Desert Bluffs Too are taking an interest in the goings-on of their neighbours back in Night Vale. Small towns need to look out for one another, help each other in hard times, because the big cities aren’t going to care or help. They never do.

Sometimes, Kevin thinks about that first year when Strexcorp began purchasing the other businesses in Desert Bluffs. Kevin thinks about how foolish his younger self was, how he hadn’t understood the good that Strexcorp was doing for his town, the way they were improving every aspect of his home in every possible way. He thinks about the brief sabbatical he took at a Strex luxury hotel, and the scars across his lips from when he wouldn’t stop saying unproductive things when all Strexcorp wanted to do was lovingly improve his radio station. He thinks of the voice he’d accidentally contacted a few days before, the voice that sounded like late night coffee.

He wonders if the original Desert Bluffs would still be, if Night Vale had helped them show that they didn’t need to be productive to be a good town.

One tidbit of Night Vale gossip does catch his attention. Kevin overhears it by accident while shopping for groceries. Apparently, there’s a new corporation setting up in Night Vale, and they’re showing an interest in buying up local businesses.

Kevin doesn’t listen to NVCR. But maybe once or twice, he made sure to visit Charles and Donovan while he knew the show was playing.

* * *

The thing with History is that it tends to repeat itself. Whenever people say that, they tend to mean the big events – wars, revolutions, liberations. The little bits of history repeat too, and for the most part, that’s a good thing. Boring, maybe, but there is a safety in the mundane that you don’t get with the novel.

Repetition is in History’s nature, a kind of narrative prerogative that has been carved through the soft mud of Time again and again, and now it’s all dried up and still carved deeper every day. So it’s easier for the world to follow the same channels in the hard earth than to change direction and possibly trip on the uneven ground, maybe even twist an ankle.

What this means is that you see the same stories, over and over. Usually it’s the boring stories, the ones about days at work, and traffic jams, and rude customers, and loquacious radio hosts, and everything is fine. But some days feel like they’re part of a bigger story. You hope desperately that it’s the kind of story where everyone just has a good scare and they all come out laughing, marvelling at their continued existence. But you suspect otherwise, because History tends to repeat itself, and this has all happened before.

It’s always the bits of History where everything begins to go wrong that people notice are repeating. Time is funny like that, _especially_ in a place like Night Vale.

Cecil wasn’t a historian. He knew as much of Night Vale’s history as any good citizen was legally allowed to acknowledge. Cecil also knew a great deal of the illegal history of Night Vale, but then again he’d always been a little bit of a rebel.

There was a bit of recent history that had him a little concerned. Recent as in a few years ago, and recent as in the last few months.

Only a few years ago, Night Vale had nearly been destroyed by Strexcorp. Now, a new big and friendly company was buying up small businesses right across the city. Sure, the likelihood that CharybdisINC would also be completely evil and try and destroy them was low, but wasn’t the corporate takeover alone worrying? Cecil was fairly happy with the shadowy overlords they already had in Night Vale, these new ones were both redundant and upsetting. And other than a few grumbles, most of the folk in Night Vale seemed to accept things slowly changing – what did it matter who your boss was if your job stayed the same? The mundane, everyday History repeating the way it should.

Maybe Cecil was just being overly suspicious. But you didn’t need to be a historian to see the bigger pattern beginning to repeat here.

Carlos had already fended off two offers from CharybdisINC to hire his scientists for “exciting, new opportunities to commercialise Night Vale’s many fascinating scientific phenomena”.

Council Member Tamika Flynn, leader of the teenaged militia that helped protect Night Vale, was doing her best to block any of CharybdisINC’s acquisitions, but she had run into unexpected opposition from City Council, who mainly seemed to be opposing her out of spite.

CharybdisINC’s power was growing stronger every day. Thankfully, Station Management hadn’t shown any interest in selling the radio, but Cecil suspected that the moment they ran into another rough patch with City Council they would pass management over to CharybdisINC so they could “work on their relationship”. It was only a matter of time.

Steve Carlsberg, Cecil’s brother-in-law and best friend, said that the lines in the sky were getting harder to read.

“It’s just a heap of concentric circles, Cecil, with arrows that point into the centre. They look like teeth. There’s one bit that looks a little like the skeleton of a flying snake with a deer skull instead of a snake’s, but I think that’s just a spelling mistake.”

At a PTA meeting, Steve traded a whole tray of lemon bars for stocks in CharybdisINC. Cecil didn’t speak to him for a week.

Night Owl Records was acquired by CharybdisINC three weeks later. Michelle Nguyen sold the shop, saying only “Music shops are so mainstream, honestly I was only running one for so long to be ironic”. By the next day, the shop had reopened with a CharybisINC logo, and was already had a lot of attention since announcing their new, wider selection of popular music. There was even a new category in the shop called “Weather Sounds”, which Cecil found as intriguing as he did unsettling.

After that, history began to repeat much quicker. City Council went on holiday, and Station Management followed them. Tamika Flynn disappeared into the sand wastes with her militia, although she did still make vaguely ominous announcements almost daily, as a council member should. Almost the whole town was now directly employed by CharybdisINC, and they began to announce new employee regulations.

And then the day Cecil had been dreading.

Night Vale Community Radio had been bought by CharybdisINC.

* * *

Cecil wasn’t much of a fighter. He was rather good at running, and sneaking was one of his favourite things. When he encountered dangerous things that he couldn’t run or sneak away from, Cecil preferred to try and talk his way out than to fight. Roughly half the time talking actually made things worse, so it wasn’t foolproof, but Cecil liked to think he was something of a pacifist, always choosing the peaceful solution over the violent one.

He wasn’t particularly good at being a pacifist, Cecil reflected, slamming the CharybdisINC employee over the head with a piece of lead pipe. The other employees looked a little more cautious about approaching.

Maybe he was a pacifist the way some particularly annoying people continually declared themselves vegan, you know, the kind who keep going on and on about how bad it is for the animals, about how veganism will save the planet, while still eating chicken, ice cream, and a steak on Sundays.

In the distance there was the sound of more fighting. Tamika’s militia, fighting off more CharybdisINC goons, but so far no one had made it to the radio station. The only other people nearby were all wearing CharybdisINC branded tee shirts.

Cecil was alone for now.

That was okay, though. Cecil had fought off five-headed dragons and faceless old women alone. Sometimes he even went to the library alone. CharybdisINC goons were not as scary as librarians.

The fight was going well, at first. It was like something out of an action movie, one of those cool kung fu ones. Cecil swung the lead pipe and knocked over another one of their guys, then he did this really cool dodging move and hit another guy across the legs, and he fell over right into his teammates. Cecil got in a few more cool moves, including this really awesome high kick and even this one move that was like a backflip but he kicked the guy in the chin while doing the backflip, so the guy was like knocked out as well.

But it wasn’t to last. Even the coolest moves aren’t a match to pure numbers, and the CharybdisINC goons definitely had numbers on their side. Numbers, and semi-automatic weaponry.

So it was that a tired, exhausted Cecil lay slumped across the radio station doors, trying his best to prevent any one entry, while also trying desperately not to provoke the goons to fire.

A man in a sharp suit stepped forwards.

“Come on, Cecil, we don’t want to harm you. Just let us in.”

“No.”

“We already own the radio station. Technically I’m your boss now! And you know CharybdisINC really doesn’t approve of strike action. This protest is against company policy.”

“I’m not moving.”

One of the goons stepped forwards, only to falter when Cecil raised the pipe again.

“We really would love to keep you on board during this exciting new time of expansion, but Cecil, you’re not the only voice in radio.” There was the menacing sound of a dozen semi-automatics having their safeties switched off. Cecil gulped, but stood firm. “Cecil, this is getting ridiculous. We really won’t be able to work with you if you insist on throwing childish tantrums like this.”

Cecil didn’t answer.

The man in the suit sighed.

“Have it your way.”

There was a wet gurgling sound, a fountain of red, and a body fell heavily to the ground, but it was hard to hear that over the sound of the weather.

* * *

Listen! I’m in a real mess, just going round and round! Usually this section would be a whole auditory escape, a break from the action while our tenacious heroes do their very best to overcome whatever adversities they are facing this week, before circling back around. But do you know how difficult it is to accurately describe and convey a complex piece of music through the written word alone? I’m making whirlpools chasing my tail on this one, trying to figure it all out.

What would I even do? I mean I suppose I could sing it myself, but that would hardly enrich your observer’s experience as I’m fairly certain none of you can hear my melodious voice hit these power ballads from wherever you are. I could post the lyrics and sheet music, and make it into more of a “assemble at home” exercise, but what guarantee do I have that you’ll be reading this at home? Certainly you can’t assemble an “assemble at home” project while at work, or while sitting on the bus hands cold, did you forget your gloves? Maybe it could work if you were sitting in a café, your hands smoking from a hot tea cup.

Lyrics on their own are more like poetry. Or maybe its that music is poetry sung aloud? Either way you have to admit there are some serious similarities, these repetitive renditions of evocative emotional content, exceptional in the manner they envelop the audience. Have you ever found that poem or song? That one that strikes sparks and sets you alight from within? That turn of phrase that makes you vibrate out of your skin even in the silence? The melody that echoes the music in your mind?

Going round in circles, creating and consuming and creating and consuming, and it isn’t neat or graceful, orbiting that feeling you need to find a way to describe.

Oh wait. That's how you do it?

Anyway.

Back in Night Vale, Cecil was about to get shot. Enjoy?

* * *

Everyone stared. There was a knife stuck stabbing through the throat of the man in the suit.

The CharybdisINC goons glanced at each other uncertainly.

With a _thwip-oompf-yauurghhh!!!!, _another man fell to the floor, a knife in his shoulder.

“Get it out!” he yelled.

“No, don’t touch it!” a goon yelled back. “You need to leave it in to keep the blood in.”

“But it’s a foreign object, see? Ain’t you s’pose to take all foreign objects out so the wound can heal?”

“Nah, you wait for a doctor, right?”

“Ohhhhhuuuuurrrghhhh,” moaned the goon with a knife in his shoulder.

Cecil, as a reporter, had a natural curiosity as to where these sudden flying knife attacks were coming from, so he was looking around.

“You!”

“Hello there, friend!” Eyes as black and deep as volcano glass and a smile that was not a smile. A man that was neither tall nor short, not fat nor thin, wearing an outfit with an uncomfortable amount of old dried blood on it.

“Kevin!”

“It’s nice to see you, Cecil. Congratulations on your marriage! I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, but you know how these things are,” Kevin said, turning to keep the goons in sight as he moved closer to Cecil. In each hand he held a knife, and there were another dozen strapped across his body.

In the distance, the sound of fighting had begun to give way to the feral chanting of warriors offering ritual thanks to the gods, so Cecil guessed things were going well there too.

“You’re here to help?” Cecil said, aware he sounded sceptical.

Kevin glanced at him, and for a second it seemed like his smile grew softer. Not soft in the way that a mother’s smile grows soft when she hears her newborn’s first words, or soft like the smile of a comfortable silence shared between two lifelong friends. Kevin’s smile grew softer the same way a professor’s smile might grow softer around a particularly irritating student who likes to interrupt class to challenge the syllabus, and who has just realised that the professor they antagonise daily holds their academic future in their hands.

That softer, condescending smile was only there for a second, before Kevin turned to face their enemy again, idly spinning a knife in one hand.

“Charles suggested it was the neighbourly thing to do,” Kevin said.

Cecil licked his chapped lips.

“Who’s Charles?”

Kevin lit up – literally. Sparks began flying within his void-like eyes, and his skin began to glow from within.

“Oh my, that’s right! You’ve never met him!” Kevin was grinning, a bright, genuine smile that was nearly startling in its earnestness. “Charles has perfect hair, and teeth like a Steinway, and he says he is a theologist. He’s the most beautiful person in the world.”

Cecil snorted.

“Second-most, maybe. Carlos is the most beautiful person in the world.”

Kevin tutted, shaking his head. “You’re exhausted from fighting and it’s made you delusional, I’m afraid. Carlos may objectively be a very attractive man, but he just cannot compare to the beauty of my Charles. Since I’m the only one of us who has met both Charles and Carlos, you cannot possibly argue.”

“I don’t need to meet Charles the Theologist to know Carlos is more beautiful than him, it’s a simple fact.”

“Uh, isn’t that a little irrelevant right now?” one of the braver goons called over, gesturing with his gun.

“Irrelevant!” Cecil snapped.

“Beauty is never irrelevant!” Kevin said, pointing a knife at the goon who had spoken up. “How rude! Interrupting my conversation with my dear friend Cecil to say something so ignorant. You must live such an unhappy life.”

As Kevin stared at the CharybdisINC goons, the lights within his eyes began to sputter out, leaving the black looking even darker. His smile grew wider, exposing normal-shaped teeth. Why was it more unsettling to see Kevin had normal teeth instead of a mouth full of twisted, jagged fangs? They weren’t even exceptionally perfect teeth, not the shining white that can only be achieved in a dentist’s office, not perfectly straight and even. But there was something about those normal, blunt-edged, human teeth that just looked… _sharp._

“I can help you learn to smile again,” Kevin said, stepping towards them. All the guns were suddenly trained on him. “I have such happy memories of meeting people just like you. Let me show you how to be happy, like they did for me.”

Kevin’s shadow appeared to be getting larger, and darker too, as if a light shining down upon him was growing brighter. The glow from beneath his skin began to shift, forming squirming patterns, like long-bodied living things, each with many legs.

A few of the CharybdisINC goons ran off. The rest looked suitably scared.

As it turns out, Kevin was an excellent fighter, and within a remarkably short time each of the knives Kevin had brought with him had at least a little blood on it, and there wasn’t a single goon still able to work a semi-auto. Cecil was impressed. And a little sick to his stomach.

Kevin had taken up a position sitting on top of one of the surviving goons, and was humming to himself while carefully slicing the man’s cheeks into a wide smile. The goon in question didn’t look like he’d learned to be happy yet.

“Um…you know they made murder illegal in Night Vale?” Cecil said.

“Did they?”

“Yeah, for a few years now.”

“Huh,” Kevin said. He was carving out a tooth now. “Well, I’m not from Night Vale, and it’s still legal over in Desert Bluffs.”

“It’s probably fine, then,” Cecil said, looking away as Kevin pried the tooth free with a satisfied noise.

A couple militia members walked by, jabbing at some captured CharybdisINC employees, who looked a little battered. The teenagers waved. Cecil waved back.

“Cecil!”

Cecil spun around at the sound of that familiar voice, beaming as he spotted that familiar face.

“Carlos!” Cecil called, forgetting his exhaustion and running straight into the arms of his husband. Carlos laughed, holding him tightly.

“Cecil! I’m so glad you’re alright! I came as soon as I could! They had some Charybdis people surrounding our labs, so it took a little time to get past them, Nilanjana made this exploding glue trap that caught a lot of them—” Carlos cut himself off to kiss Cecil, “—and then on the way over I saw Dana fighting like five guys at once, and honestly she was doing pretty well on her own, but I asked if she needed any help and she said yes, so I helped tie up some of the guys she’d knocked out—” Carlos kissed him again, “—and then I ran straight here. Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m fine, just a little tired,” Cecil sighed, happily melting into Carlos’ arms. It was a lovely moment, even with the pained moaning in the background.

“Yes, so… Kevin’s here,” Cecil said, a little flatly.

Kevin, hearing his name, grinned in their direction and gave a little wave. His hand was glistening wet and red. 

“Hello, Kevin,” Carlos said, releasing Cecil so he could wave back.

“Hi Carlos! Gosh, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“A few years, yeah. You seem… like you’re having fun there…”

“I am, Carlos, thank you for noticing!”

“…you’re welcome. Uh, will you be visiting long?”

“Well, we weren’t planning on it,” Kevin said, standing up to approach one of the other downed CharybdisINC goons. “The whole trip was a little last-minute. All I packed were my knives. And my yellow hat, obviously.” Kevin paused midway through slicing a new smile across the goon’s cheeks to stare at the undamaged radio station doors, adding, “Apparently, I got here just in time, too.”

Carlos frowned, and glanced around the scene more carefully, taking in the number of the bloody Charybdis employees, and the scattering of semi-automatic weaponry, and the distinct lack of bullet holes anywhere. The distinct lack of bullet holes in _Cecil_ was especially telling.

“Kevin?” Carlos said softly. Kevin glanced his way, curious about the odd wobbly tone to Carlos’ voice. “Did you come to Night Vale specifically to help us fight against CharybdisINC?”

“I support small local businesses,” Kevin said, moving back to his bloody endeavour.

Carlos stepped forwards, moving to kneel beside Kevin, heedless of the blood in the dirt.

“You wanted to help,” Carlos confirmed.

Kevin blinked. It was odd to watch, given that he had no eyes – even the bits around his eyes were missing, it was just darkness of infinite depths – but it was definitely a blink.

“Well, sure! We’re friends, aren’t we? And while your desire to live in this dismal little town instead of a place as warm and friendly as Desert Bluffs continues to elude me, it does have a certain…character, that I thought might be lost if these Charybdis people had their way,” Kevin said. “Did you know Charybdis is a monster that devours the unwary? Charles told me about it. And these – these unfaithful interlopers tried to bring their false idolatry here! There is only one Smiling God, their pale and trembling imitation is nothing before that glorious light!”

“I see,” Carlos said, nodding. “Thank you, for coming to visit. And for keeping Cecil safe.”

“I did, didn’t I? What a happy coincidence!” Kevin said, grinning. Carlos laughed, standing to make his way back to his slightly grumpy husband.

“I didn’t really need protecting, you know,” Cecil added, as Carlos ducked into his arms again. “Guns don’t kill people.”

“Darling, you know that’s not true.”

“Kevin?” called a strangely familiar voice. Familiar, because Cecil could swear it sounded a lot like Carlos. Strange, because it was Carlos’ old voice, from before his throat surgery.

If Cecil thought Kevin had lit up before, it was nothing compared to now – there were so many sparks flying across his eyes they looked like fireworks! Kevin gasped, leaping to his feet.

“Charles! Over here, sweetheart!” Kevin called back, waving his arms.

At the end of the street, there was a man. His hair was dark, with a little grey around the temples, and Cecil was sure that if he styled it just a little differently it would look perfect. The man grinned, baring teeth like piano keys, when he noticed Kevin waving and began to run over. As he got closer and closer, there was no doubt – this stranger looked identical to Carlos! He was wearing a corduroy jacket with leather elbow patches, about a dozen silver necklaces with varying religious insignia, prayer beads, an intricately carved jackrabbit’s skull, and he was carrying a shovel. The business end of the shovel was covered in black ichor, blood, and dirt.

Kevin laughed, and ran to meet the stranger, who dropped the shovel so he could catch when Kevin leapt into his arms and began kissing him deeply.

“Cecil, is that – are our doubles dating?” Carlos said, grabbing Cecil’s hand tightly while they both watched with wide eyes. The kiss was getting dirtier. It was vaguely uncomfortable to watch.

Cecil wasn’t sure what to think. Kevin was evil, an unholy noise turned physical, wrapped in yellow, a smile, and usually a generous splattering of blood. But Carlos was so _good_, a hero among men, and any double of Carlos had to have the same qualities. _Carlos’_ double could not possibly be _evil, _the very idea was unthinkable. It made no sense.

But very obviously, Carlos’ double and Kevin _were_ dating, or at the very least they were making out regularly. Which could only mean that Carlos’ double _had_ to be evil. Or have very bad taste in men.

“I don’t know,” Cecil said eventually, realising he hadn’t answered Carlos.

They were still kissing, but now it was playful, brief kisses and giggling as the stranger lowered Kevin back onto his feet. They broke apart properly a moment later, both grinning widely.

Suddenly Kevin gasped, rather theatrically.

“Oh! Charles, your smile! You’ve lost it!” Kevin fretted, his fingers hovering over his unscarred cheeks.

“Have I?” the stranger – Charles – said, still grinning.

“Here, let me help,” Kevin said, reaching for a knife.

“Kevin—”

“Wait a sec—"

As one, Cecil and Carlos moved to intervene. They had both watched for the past few minutes as Kevin inflicted smiles on all the CharybdisINC enemies, and neither were keen to watch it happen again.

But they needn’t have bothered, it turned out.

Kevin dabbed his fingertips into the blood on the knife, and used it to draw smile marks trailing from the corners of Charles’ mouth up to just before his ears. Charles accepted the whole process with an indulgent smile, staring straight into the voids of Kevin’s eyes which glittered like night skies.

“Better?” Charles asked.

“Perfect,” Kevin sighed, giving him another brief kiss before leading him over to the group of defeated CharybdisINC goons. Charles blanched a little seeing all the damaged bodies, but he didn’t flinch away.

“You gave them smiles?” Charles said.

Kevin hummed, nuzzling into Charles’ neck. “Eight new converts, all eager to learn about the Smiling God. None of them made it even close to the doors. I’m more powerful than them this time!”

“I’m proud of you, sunshine!” Charles said, kissing Kevin’s forehead. Kevin gave an excited little bounce, glowing a little brighter as he hugged Charles tightly.

“New converts?” Carlos said, stepping forwards.

Charles jumped, spinning to face them as if he had literally not noticed they were there. Kevin aimed a smug grin in Cecil’s direction.

“I told you he’s the most beautiful man in the world,” Kevin drawled.

“What?! No! Carlos is more beautiful! It’s even more obvious now that they’re both here to compare!” Cecil replied.

“I’m sure you think that,” Kevin purred.

“It’s an absolute truth of the universe!”

It looked like the argument was going to go on for a while. Carlos turned to Charles.

“So, um. You must be Charles?” Carlos said, offering his hand to shake.

“And you must be Carlos,” Charles said, taking his hand. He looked a little nervous. “You know, when Kevin said we looked similar, I didn’t think we’d look quite so, um—”

“Identical?” Carlos suggested, giving a weak smile.

“Yes… it’s a little unsettling, honestly.”

“Oh, you think so too? I didn’t want to say, I mean of course it is _fascinating—”_

“Definitely! But it does make me wonder about the nature of predestination.”

“Mhmm! And about free will.”

“Exactly!” Charles exclaimed. “I mean, what are the chances that the two of us would both independently move to small towns in the middle of the desert renowned for their bizarre and fascinating natures? And then independently begin dating near identical but unrelated radio hosts?”

“The chances are a little higher than you’d think, apparently every person on the globe has around 21 doppelgangers, but the chances of this exact series of events is still very low. And knowing Night Vale, its actually far more likely that we’re quantum parallel mirrors of each other – literally two versions of the same person.”

“My theory was that a creator god made different versions of the same place to see what happens,” Charles said, nodding. “Do you think we were born in the same city?”

“Possibly. Were you on Crescent Avenue near Lilac?” Carlos said, fishing a notebook and a stick of charcoal out of a lab coat pocket.

“Ahhh, no, I was over at Marigold, on Bright Street. They had that adobe wall with the niches,” Charles said, fetching his own notebook.

“I know the one! This is really neat! Do you think we have the same blood type?”

“Maybe. I don’t know my blood type.”

“I’m only 80% certain I know mine. It’s changed four times since I moved to Night Vale. Apparently it’s normal for it to do that here—wait! Drop that before someone sees!”

“What?” Charles said, holding a pen. Carlos slapped it from his hand, and stood on the pen, hiding it beneath his foot while glancing around.

“Writing implements are illegal here. The Secret Police will arrest you if they see you with one,” Carlos explained to a startled Charles.

“Oh. But what about your charcoal stick?”

“It’s a bit of firepit debris, not a writing implement. Would you like one? I have a heap.”

“No, that’s alright. Kevin?” Charles asked, turning to the bloodier of the two radio hosts, who were still arguing about who was the more beautiful between two identical doubles. “Could I borrow your stiletto? The one with the engraving?”

Kevin handed over the long, thin blade with a kiss and barely a break in his arguing with Cecil, and Charles began to use the bloody instrument to scrawl notes across his book. They spent the next few minutes comparing life histories, and it was somewhat startling how close their pasts were to identical. Startling, and absolutely fascinating.

“Oh, do you have the time, by the way?”

“Sorry, no, time doesn’t work properly in Night Vale.”

“How does—how would that even work?”

“Believe me, I’ve been trying to work that out for years.”

“Right, it’s just we were planning on picking my son up before dinner.”

“Oh! Well in that case, I’ve found that as long as you’re certain you’ll be somewhere on time, you will be. It’s really quite relaxing,” Carlos said.

“Wait—” Cecil said, throwing one hand up to pause the argument with Kevin and spinning to face them, “—then why were you late to dinner last week?”

Carlos blushed.

“Um. It sort of relies on _remembering_ that you need to arrive somewhere on time, and that was the day I was studying the [REDACTED]. I got a little distracted and forgot we were planning to have dinner. I’m sorry, Cecil.”

Cecil was still pouting, so Carlos came closer and took both of his hands, staring deep into his eyes.

“Why don’t we go to Big Rico’s tonight?” he said.

“We already had our mandatory pizza slices for this week,” Cecil said.

“Yeah, I know. This time could be just for fun,” Carlos said. “Or we could try and sneak into Tourniquet again. Didn’t Earl Harlan say they have a new appetizer?”

“Mini duck confit with strychnine frosting. Ohhh, it sounds delicious!”

“Yeah! I made this new stealth bodypaint, I bet we could at least get into the dining area before they discover us this time!”

Cecil squealed, leaning in to kiss Carlos on both cheeks, and giggled, holding him still to give him a peck on the lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They kissed again, quickly getting rather caught up in it.

Over to one side, Kevin had sidled up to Charles and tucked himself into his arms again.

“We should probably be getting back,” Charles said, planting a quick kiss on Kevin’s temple while they watched their doubles making out. “We’re going to be late collecting Donovan as it is.”

“Grandma Josephine won’t mind,” Kevin said, nuzzling against Charles’ face. “Besides, I have to visit the Temple of Joy over on Route 800 while we’re here. Come with me?”

“Kevin…”

“Please? It’ll just be a quick visit.” Kevin had begun kissing along Charles’ jawline. “You could catalogue the regional differences that exist among followers of the Smiling God?”

“Don’t you tempt me with a new church,” Charles groaned.

“What should I tempt you with?” Kevin said, wiggling against him.

Charles laughed, squeezing Kevin more firmly into his chest. Together they swayed for a few quiet moments, as if to a tune only they could hear.

“If we’re gonna be late anyway, what’s a few more minutes? Babe, its been _ages_, you always make my legs shake so good when you eat me out.”

“It’s been like two days, Kevin,” Charles said, side-eying Carlos and Cecil, who appeared to have overheard the little explicit detail and were now staring.

“Yes, exactly!” Kevin said. “Pleaaaassseee?”

“Well…if we’re going to be late already—" Kevin cut him off by kissing him deeply, which Charles certainly seemed to enjoy if the dazed look in his eyes several moments later was anything to go by. “Let’s go, then!”

Kevin grinned, quickly skipping around the bloody battle site to collect all the knives he’d left scattered about. Charles grabbed his shovel.

“It was nice meeting you both,” he said, waving over one shoulder as Kevin began to drag him away.

“You too,” Carlos replied. “We should have you over for dinner some time!”

“That would be nice!”

And then Kevin and Charles disappeared into the distance.

“Are – are they – did they just imply they’re running off to have sex on the alter of the Temple of Joy on Route 800?” Cecil asked, flabbergasted. He glanced to Carlos, who looked a little wide eyed and pink-cheeked, but his mouth was curved in a familiar smirk.

“Well, if my double is anything like me, I’d say that’s exactly what they’re about to do,” Carlos said with a sly glance in Cecil’s direction.

“Carlos!” Cecil gasped, faux-scandalised. “You’d have sex _in a church?_ I suppose it does have an appropriate name for something like that, the “Temple of Joy”, but isn’t having sex in a religious establishment sort of sacrilegious?”

“No more than having sex in a science lab, I think,” Carlos said with a wink. “I mean, it is Kevin’s religion, so he’s the one who decides if it’s sacrilegious or not.”

All around them, the Charybdis goons were groaning softly, some attempting to sit up, one or two weeping. It was a little messy. Cecil was wondering what they should do about it, when a pair of people both dressed in yellow and wearing bright smiles approached.

“Awww, are these the new members of the Joyous Congregation?” asked the man in a yellow hoop skirt. “Look how big their smiles are!”

“I can see all their teeth!” said the woman in the yellow ruffled shirt.

They both pulled out bobbins of string and some very strong looking needles.

Carlos thought it was about time they left, and he grabbed Cecil’s arm to pull him along.

Overall, it was a wonderful reunion for Cecil and Kevin, and the first step on the way to a beautiful friendship. Charles and Kevin visited the Temple of Joy, then returned to Desert Bluffs to pick up Donovan from Grandma Josephine’s house, and they had a wonderful evening full of board games and home cooking. Cecil and Carlos had a fantastic date, and they did manage to sneak into the dining area and even steal a plate of food from the trolley before they were discovered and kicked out.

And as for CharybdisINC, well it turns out that with the executives all killed or arrested during the civil unrest, Steve Carlsberg now owned a controlling interest of the company shares. He decided – much like the Erikas before him – that CharybdisINC was better dissolved, and ownership of all their properties in Night Vale reverted to the original owners.


End file.
